


we're on our way (to the glory days)

by bleuboxes



Category: Mamma Mia! (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pining, Romance, SO, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, also could be a modern au if u really wanted it to be, based LOOSELY on mamma mia 2, bc i just saw it and i have too many feelings about bill and donna so, lesbian!rosie, sam is the worst im sorry, thats cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/pseuds/bleuboxes
Summary: She’s the beautiful, broken-hearted American girl with a voice and a vision.ordonna deals with loneliness, personal growth, and love.





	we're on our way (to the glory days)

**Author's Note:**

> ive been doing nothing but screaming and listening to abba since seing mamma mia 2 and i have too many feelings about bill and donna so 
> 
> obviously i had to write something.
> 
> this was way longer than i wanted it to be but thats how it works most of the time.
> 
> im super fucking tired so IM sorry for the mistakes
> 
> title is from a hayley kiyoko song. 
> 
> also rosie is a lesbian and u cant change my mind.

Donna is _not_ hung up over Sam – regardless of what her friends say.

 She simply isn’t – Sam might have been handsome, he might have been sweet, and funny and everything else – but he was also engaged to someone that wasn’t her, and well, no matter how strongly Donna felt about him (which was rather strongly, considering that she only knew him for a rather short time), she did not want to be the other woman.

 So, she isn’t.

 Instead, she’s wallowing in self-pity on a beautiful Grecian island and silently cursing Aphrodite.

 But it’s whatever; she doesn’t need a stupid handsome boy in her life anyway. She’s got a place to live, a singing gig, and she’s in the most beautiful place in the entire world.

 The companionship was nice though – Donna’s always been good with making friends, but it’s harder here, she doesn’t know a lick of Greek, so a lot of conversations that she would usually make are thrown out the window. The population on the island is a bit older than she’d like, and, it’s not really what she’s used to.

 Not that that’s a bad thing – it’s really the best thing – sometimes it’s just a little lonelier than she’d like it to be.

 

* * *

  

She writes her friends – Tanya and Rosie – to come visit – and then she goes back to straightening up the cottage she’s staying in.

 Cleaning is cathartic; not that there were a lot of things in there that reminded her of Sam, but getting rid of the stuff he forgot to grab and making the space uniquely her own helps her a little bit.

 Plus, with her whirlwind of an arrival the place is a fucking mess, so there’s that.

  

* * *

 

 

Tanya and Rosie arrive, and Donna’s suddenly out of her low. She’s able to let out everything that’s she’s been feeling – the anger, the hurt, the loneliness. She has fun for the first time in _ages_ (two weeks felt much longer than it actually was). They drink, they swim, they sing and dance and thrive.

Donna’s never felt more alive in her life – and that’s saying something because she’s had quite an exciting life.

Rosie and Tanya stay for a week. It’s like college all over again, except there’s no studying, and they’re not as naïve as they once were. It’s during this time that Donna understands that she really doesn’t plan on leaving this island, that she won’t see her friends as often as she’d like to, and that she needs to figure out maybe a semblance of a life plan because while wondering the earth forever sounds like an appealing option, she knows it’s not practical.

But other people are going to keep traveling – are going to hear the sirens call to this very place – and well, the ruinous structure that she’s wandering right now could perhaps one day be a beautiful hotel, one that travelers from all over the world would come to visit.

So, she’s got a plan. It’s three am, and she’s drunk on cheap wine, but it’s a _fucking_ plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Rosie and Tanya leave the next afternoon. Rosie’s been talking about this cute girl she met in the shop on the corner of her street and how much the girl will have worried about her since she hasn’t stopped in the shop for a week. Tanya and Donna roll their eyes because it’s so like Rosie to ramble nonsense about a girl that she’s only met once or twice.

It’s cute though, and Donna really does think this shop girl seems like a good match for her friend.

Tanya is being disgustingly sentimental, which is one of her background personality traits that usually comes into the spotlights at moments like these – but it’s okay. They know that they’re only saying goodbye for a little while. They promise to keep correspondence, and Rosie and Tanya promise her that if she so much as thinks of Sam again, they’ll murder her more than once.

Donna’s pretty sure they’re joking.

She _hopes_ they’re joking.

Her friends catch the two-thirty ferry, and Donna’s left on the dock waving after the boat like it’s one of those old black and white movies. That thought makes her smile – it’s so funny how much and how little things change.

 

* * *

  

A few weeks pass. If Donna wasn’t the talk of the town before, she is now – she’s the beautiful broken-hearted American girl with a voice and a vision. They love her, and she’s never been more sure that this is the place for her – that she was somehow meant to be here.

Donna isn’t sure if she believes in God, but if this all ends up working out, she just might think there’s some credibility in believing in a higher power.

Regardless, life is not all fun. She works hard when she isn’t busy singing. She’s always been a bit of a fixer-upper, and with her new plan intact, her talent has never been more useful. She’s a regular handy-man, and word spreads and soon she’s busy helping out the whole village.

She’s busy, and she works hard, but she’s still happy. The more she works, the more this place really starts to feel like home – like she’s investing her soul in the very life-force of this magical, wonderful town.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes in the mornings, when the sun is just coming up over the water and the air is not yet warm with the summer heat, she’ll go out walking along the road, stopping along the way to pick an orange (or a few) and to sit on the dock. 

Donna especially loves dangling her legs off the edge of the dock; the water gently tickles her toes as she swings her legs back and forth like she’s in the first grade again. She looks at the horizon, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes – just listening to the sound of the ocean.

Donna’s always loved the ocean. It’s just the right amount of unruly and strong and painstakingly beautiful. It has a mind of its own and it’s absolutely hypnotizing. (In another life, or world, or universe even, Donna likes to think that she, herself, is the ocean.)

She opens her eyes and sees a sailboat on the horizon. She doesn’t think much of it, just that there will probably be a new patron in the bar tonight.

 

* * *

  

Donna loves loud outfits. She loves colors and patterns and textures and how they all can complement each other in such a way that it’s a reflection of the person that’s wearing them. She also thinks it’s in her best interest to be honest when she’s singing, which is why she wears whatever may be tickling her fancy. Tonight, it’s a ruffled blue number, and her shiny boots.

Not to toot her own horn or anything, but she looks fucking good.

The staff in the bar seems to think so too – Donna laughs and thanks them all – it’s one thing to compliment yourself but another when others compliment you.

The set starts, and she loses herself in the music – which is normal enough, it’s during her break, that things start to become a little haywire.

Donna’s chatting with her friend behind the bar when _he_ walks in. She only notices him out of the corner of her eye, but it’s enough for her to discern that he’s rather handsome.

Like excessively handsome.

Like so handsome that Donna wants to scream because it isn’t fucking fair.

Her friend throws her a wink when she hands Donna a glass of water.

“Shut up.”

Her friend laughs.

The second set starts, and Donna soon forgets about the handsome man, and gets lost within the melodies and the words. She doesn’t notice that he’s sitting at the table with the best vantage point of where she’s preforming. She doesn’t notice him looking only at her in a bashful yet interested sort of manner, she doesn’t notice the drunken patrons joking with him about his fixated attention.

Regardless, she does keep this handsome guy in the back of her mind while she’s singing, and she decides mid-way through the set, that she’s going to go over and have a nice chat when this is all over.

Except she doesn’t. Stupid Sam and his cheating ass enter her thoughts and turn her away from even entertaining the idea of having a conversation with this guy.

As she sneaks out and back to the cottage, she thinks this is a new feeling; she’s never known cowardice before.

 

* * *

 

 

He stays for two days, then leaves. Donna admires him – he’s angular and muscular and has the prettiest shade of blonde hair. It looks like it’s rather fine, and it settles just above his shoulders in a wavy manner – not like a natural way, but in the way that’s more like a beach wave than anything else. He’s rather tan, but tan for a fair skinned person. He’s got a tattoo of an eye of Horus on both of his knees His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue that Donna’s ever seen.

He’s got that cute boaty way of dressing too; she nearly melts every time she sees him.

She doesn’t speak to him, but she does write about him – in her journal, in songs, and in letters to her friends (which she knows she’s going to regret at a later date but that’s for future-Donna to worry about).

 

* * *

 

 

This handsome man keeps appearing and reappearing after weeks at a time. It’s like, he’ll be here for two, three, four days, then disappear for two to three weeks, then show up again and the cycle begins again.

And every time Donna chickens out in talking to him.

She learns through the grapevine that his name is Bill Anderson – a Swedish sailor who has somehow found himself enthralled with this lovely little island.  

Donna does her best not to think about him, but that’s hard to do when the entire population of her island town seems hell bent on pestering her about him.

It’s _Oh, Donna, what about that Bill? He seems nice_ and _Donna, love, you should go talk to that nice sailor boy!_ It’s like a glorified mother that actually cares.

But she can only take so much, which is how she finds herself sitting in an orange tree, quieting her mind and willing herself to think of something else other than the stupid blue-eyed boy.

Then said boy somehow ends up standing below her, greeting her, and spooking her, which leads to Donna tumbling out of the tree and onto the ground below. He comes rushing over, looking distressed, but she’s not hurt.

She’s not really sure what to say, not that he’s rather close to her looking all worried and everything, so she laughs. The whole fucking situation really is quite comical, come to think of it, and she thinks her outburst is more fitting than crazy. He joins in the laughter – as Donna has been known to have an infectious laugh, and she pulls him down onto the ground next to her.

They look through the stenciled sky – a bright blue-bird blue color between the leafy branches, and they finally formally introduce each other.

Bill is one of those guys that is effortless in the way he articulates how he feels without actually using the specific words. They keep joking about being madly in love, they talk of goddesses and old jazz music that Donna secretly loves and holds dear to her heart. He compliments her voice and her clothes and calls her pretty on the sly several times – but she’s no dummy.

Bill is also a huge fucking flirt, and Donna finds it absolutely endearing.

So she entertains him when he asks if she’d like to walk with him. They laugh at none thing important and try to impersonate each other, the townspeople that keep gawking at them as they walk together, and famous people that they knew from growing up.

It’s fun, being with Bill. Everything feels so fresh and new and exciting. He craves adventure like she does, he has the same respect and awe of the ocean that she does. He likes not being tethered to one specific place, but he too feels lonely, and it’s like she’s met a kindred spirit – which sounds kind of dumb, but life is short, and things are allowed to sound dumb and still be accurate.

Bill takes her to dinner, and they’re in a constant state of giggles and flirting. The band that everyone but Donna thinks is terrible is playing, and she stands up, grabbing Bill’s hand and forces him to dance with her. They’re being silly and smiley, but Donna couldn’t care less.

She’s happy.

 

* * *

 

Donna isn’t saying that she wakes up with Bill in her bed the next morning, but she wakes up with Bill in her bed the next morning. She’s always been an early riser, so she’s first to wake up, and she’s glad that she is – he looks even prettier when he’s sleeping. He’s still sharp, but he’s relaxed now – at peace, and it’s beautiful.

Unfortunately, these calm moments don’t last for long, because he too wakes up early, and soon the two of them are giggling and kissing and being straight up ridiculous in the early tendrils of the sunlight that peeks through the window in her bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Time goes on. Bill keeps coming back. Sometimes they wake up together in her bedroom, sometimes it’s in his bed on his boat after a day of sailing or swimming or being two people in almost paradise who are halfway to falling in love.

Some of his things begin to pile up around her home, and the cottage seems more alive – like it’s receptive to him and his things. It makes her smile more – makes her feel less alone.

And of course, she writes Tanya and Rosie about him. (They can’t wait to meet him).

  

* * *

  

Bill travels a lot, and Donna’s fine with that. What they have isn’t really _defined_ yet. Because well they’re friends but there also they’re not, and there’s obviously a spark of romance tangled in this whole fucking mess (along with all the synonyms for affection) but they just don’t really talk about it. 

She’s scared that bringing up the topic of defining the “thing” might make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down, and she wants him to keep traveling and racing his boat. Those things make him happy – and while she’s pretty sure she makes him happy too – she’s only one out of three.

She doesn’t want to talk about it because she really likes it here, on this island. She’s been busy with life but, that hasn’t put a damper on her hotel plans – which she’s told him about on several occasions (he’s always gets so excited about her ideas).

The thing is – they’ve got a good thing, right now – _whatever_ it is, and well, she doesn’t want to change it. She’s happy, he’s happy; she can’t ask for much more.

Except she wants to. She wants to be able to say – _oh, yeah, I’m the love of Bill Andersons’s life_ or something along those lines. She wants to be able to say _that’s my boyfriend_ and _I love you_ and stupid sentimental shit like that.

Because she does, you know, _love_ Bill.

The island is her home, but he is her heart – or a big portion of her heart because Donna has tons of room there for her friends and other people that she will meet and love along the way.

They do need to talk about it though; things can’t go on like this forever – and if it goes south, she’d like to get out of the mess before her heart’s in it all the way (even though it’s a little late for that). She just doesn’t want this to be another Sam – where she’s the one that gets screwed and heartbroken and he trots off into the golden sunset off to whatever other happiness awaits him.

Donna wants to be in this for the long haul, and she’s absolutely terrified that he doesn’t feel the same.

Which she knows is ridiculous because she’s pretty sure she heard Bill whisper _I love you_ in the crook of her neck when he thought she was sleeping the last time he was here.

Donna decides this conversation needs to happen sooner rather than later, and she makes another pact with herself – this time she vows to go through with it.

  

* * *

 

  

Bill comes to visit a week later; he surprises her while she’s fixing the shutters; he hugs her around the waist and peppers sweet butterfly kisses along her neck.

“Stop it, you idiot,” Donna says fondly, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“You haven’t seen me in three weeks and this is the greeting I get?”

“Yeah, Yeah, Missed you too. Stop being a jackass so I can finish this.”

“Sure thing,” he says, then kisses her neck once more for good measure, “I’ll be at yours when you’re ready to look for me.”

“Alright.” She calls, and he’s gone and run off.

The shutters are a pain in the ass and take a bit longer than she’d like to finish. But, that’s alright. She needs all the time she can get to prepare for this long speech she’s made in her head – if Oxford taught her anything, it’s that it always pays to be prepared.

She formulates a bulleted list of points to bring up as she walks home. She rehearses sentences to the grass and the sky and she knows she is worrying too much about this whole conversation, but she can’t help it.

The universe (or God or whatever) has a funny way of working, though; she walks through the front door of her cottage only to find Bill reciting sentences eerily familiar to hers. He’s so wrapped up in what he’s doing he doesn’t seem to hear her open and close the loud, creaky door. She has to resort to other means to grab his attention.

She pulls the same shit he pulled on her earlier.

Granted, he’s a bit more receptive than she was, but that’s life.

“Donna,” he starts, slowly turning to face her, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you –“

“I love you,” she blurts. This was Not on the mental list of things to say, “and I don’t know what we are, exactly – or if you feel the same way, but I’m very sure that I love you, and I thought you should know that this isn’t just some casual thing to me. And if you do feel the same, I just need you to know that you are not tethered to this island – so you’re free to sail and adventure, and I’m not going to be mad. That’s who you are – you are part ocean, part boat, part adventure, and asking you to give those up would be cruel of me.”

“My heart is linked to yours – by some cosmic force or by our own being – and I adore you, and I know that this – _whatever we have_ – is not going to be perfect, and it’s gonna _fucking_ _suck_ sometimes, but I _want_ that. I want the goodness and the suckiness; I want this whole public official relationship thing with you – that sounds dumb, but you get what I’m saying –“

“Donna,” he says, gently, taking her hands in his own. He brings them up to his lips and kisses them. Once. Twice. Three times, “I love you, more than I have ever loved the sea, or my boat, or any other thing in this entire world. I cherish my time with you – you are my whole heart, my first and last dream – and I’d love to do this ‘ _whole public official relationship thing_ ’ with you.”

“You’re making me cry, asshole.”

“Sap,” he chuckles; Donna embraces him, resting her head against the crook of his neck. What she feels now is not happiness – this is pure elation – something more pure and raw and focused than anything she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“I love you.” She whispers quietly.

 He kisses the top of her head, and she knows everything’s going to be okay.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> pls give me validation.


End file.
